


Bagatelles

by printfogey



Category: One Piece
Genre: Companionship, Friendship, Gen, Loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-02 08:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/printfogey/pseuds/printfogey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brook viewed first from Robin, then from Usopp's POV. Set - and originally written - shortly after Thriller Bark, before Sabaody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. B Minor

**Author's Note:**

> Author's notes: I wrote this as a way to figure out Brook and looking to Robin and Usopp to help me out. Don't know how well it worked. The parts are actually pretty stand-alone and probably don’t have to be read in order, since there’s nothing that says part one is chronologically before part two. But I thought they fit better together like this than as separate fics.
> 
> Constructive criticism and other comments would be much appreciated, as always - nitpicks very much included.
> 
> (Bagatelle is, among other things, a term in classical music for a short composition, usually for the piano and light-hearted in character.)
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters and situations of One Piece belong to Eiichiro Oda, their creator. They are used here without permission for entertainment purposes only. This fanfic may not be used for profit in any way and should not be reposted elsewhere without the writer's consent.

Having thought the matter over for about twenty seconds, Robin decided that no, she did not feel bad about keeping a discreet eye now and then on their newest crewmate. 

It wasn’t mere idle curiosity, she told herself (though she certainly felt idle enough at present, sitting in a deck-chair on the lawn with a book in her lap). It was actually for the greater good of the crew’s well-being – not that Brook’s loyalty was in question, as hers had been in Zoro’s eyes back when she had first joined them. But it simply stood to reason that the more she could figure out about how he worked, the better they would be able to co-operate as crewmates. That was the theory, in any case.

It would, she thought judiciously, stretching out in the morning sun with a fruit drink in her hand, be wrong to claim something so absurd that Brook couldn’t handle being alone. He was not that weak. In fact, he had already filled in as look-out once, during one of the gaps when Zoro reluctantly left the post to rest for a few hours somewhere where Chopper could keep an eye on him. And Brook seemed to handle that just fine, bringing his violin up with him and letting down sweet and rousing music from above. (Though it was true that Luffy had bounced up there several times just to hear better, now that she thought about it.) 

And down below, the musician could often be seen sitting with a book or two in his lap. Besides a clear preference for anything that featured pictures of pretty young ladies, he seemed to like both old and new titles, from what she could tell. Perhaps he liked the old ones to remind him of the world he came from, and the new for learning about what the world was now, Robin speculated. 

Brook had even started to vie with Nami at being the first to grab the paper when the newspaper-seagull turned up. Although since he never carried any money and optimistically persisted in feeding the seagull a biscuit instead, the mercantile bird had already started to first hand over the paper to him and then proceed to fly over to Nami for payment, to Nami’s mounting annoyance. So Brook could not infrequently be seen somewhere on board, sipping tea and reading the paper or a book with a placid air. At other times, he might sit on the railings and just stare out at the waves. Sometimes he would pick up his violin, sometimes not.

But every so often he would look over his shoulder and if he happened to not see anyone right then, he’d immediately abandon his quiet pose and saunter away, jauntily swinging his sword-cane until he’d found some crewmate to chat with or perform for. Of course, as a newcomer aboard the Thousand Sunny with all its unique features, he usually had a ready pretext in some nook and cranny of the ship he hadn’t yet asked or commented on. Not that he always seemed to pay close attention to the answers. 

She had seen this pattern repeat itself quite a few times now. From what she could tell, it didn’t seem to be enough for the skeleton to hear the laughs and shouts, insults and exclamations that might come from his crewmates just around the corner. He wasn’t satisfied with just hearing the sounds of cooking, sleeping, squabbling, carpentry, goofing around and so on: he needed to see them and talk to them. He’d told them himself about how he’d used to listen to his crewmates’ precious singing on his sound dial. But now she also wondered if there might have been many times during the years when he’d only imagined hearing the voices and noise from his old crew. 

For her part, Robin had rarely found it difficult to relax when she was by herself. If anything, she was probably _too_ self-contained, she reflected. True, she had never been able to get by wholly by herself – who could, after all? When the World Government had been after you from an early age, you needed the shelter of a pirate crew, a gang, or another type of (probably criminal) organisation to hide under. But while it was impossible from a practical viewpoint to live completely on your own, it was – it had been – just as necessary for survival to be able to keep your own counsel, and to be most at home with only your own company. Or so it had seemed to her.

She supposed that for her, other people had always been the enemy. As she grew older, stronger and smarter, it had frequently been an enemy she could master, being able to either out-think or out-fight the majority of the people she came across. But that didn’t mean she changed her general way of thinking. Solitude had meant privacy, and as such had been fine and good as long as the basic needs for survival were met. Company could be stimulating in some ways, true, but there had always been that lurking threat of betrayal. 

And now, after finding the comrades she had never really dared to hope would exist, she was still quite able to handle what brief moments of accidental solitude that might sometimes occur on this ship. She knew everyone was here, after all. Often enough, she knew or could guess pretty much exactly where everyone was right at the moment. Besides, she could always count on anyone of them turning up pretty quickly (whether it was Sanji with a snack, Nami asking for advice about something, Chopper showing her some exciting new discovery, or any of the others).

It was Brook who was ambling towards her now, though, with a book she’d loaned him the other day under his arm. He waved with his sword-cane as he came closer.

“Ahoy there! Good morning, Miss Robin! You look in fine fetters today, I must say!”

“Thank you, Mr. Brook,” she replied calmly.

Brooke turned his head upwards, watching the main sail billow above them in the morning breeze.

“Look!” he exclaimed. “A seagull! We must be getting close to land!”

Robin shadowed her eyes and peered up at the silhouette high above them, circling the mast.   
“Not necessarily,” she said. “It looks like it might be an albatross.” From what Nami had told her they should still be a fair distance from the Red Line, although it was hard to know for sure given the unpredictable currents and the rather sketchy map and vague instructions they had obtained.

She looked back at her tall crewmate. “Did you enjoy the book, Mr. Brook?” 

“Why, yes!!” he asserted melodiously. “An excellent tome, Miss Robin! Although, being a gentleman I could not in any case denigrate what I have borrowed from a lady. - However, I must say it’s frightfully dull in spots!!”

“I’m sorry about that,” she murmured, sipping from her tasty fruit drink.

“Oh, do not worry unduly! It’s still fairly interesting in other parts!” he granted generously. “And I must say I adore the pictures! What delightful creatures the queens and princesses of ancient Alabasta were!”

“Still are,” she remarked placidly, as she turned a page of the book she herself was reading (a well-thumbed copy of _Funeral Practices in Ancient South Blue Civilizations, Volume II_ ). 

“An albatross, eh?” Brook turned his gaze upwards again, sounding pensive as he looked at the bird. “Then, I suppose we ought to feed it breadcrumbs for luck… No, I will do better than that!” he suddenly decided, hauling out a harmonica from somewhere inside his clothes, or possibly his ribcage. “I will play it a morning salutation!” 

He began to play the harmonica, starting softly but soon sending clear, strong notes up towards the main mast where the bird was circling; right up towards the morning sun. Robin’s hand stopped halfway towards her glass of drink. She put her head to one side as she listened.

For fifty years, he had been all alone on that vast ship carrying the corpses of his friends. Even drifting rudderless in the Floridian triangle and facing all the nameless dangers there; even after coming upon Thriller Bark where he’d had his shadow stolen by Moria, after fighting zombies and training for five years in order to try and regain his shadow; he had still somehow kept his essential grasp of reality and clung on to sanity. He had grown a little strange and ragged around the edges, certainly; but he had kept hoping for the right kind of people to come along and help him, and keep him company; had kept holding his mind open and his hand reaching out for them. 

Despite all the dangers and setbacks he’d faced, still for Brook other people had meant the hope of salvation and a way to fulfil his promise one day. 

They did not mean the enemy.

And that, she thought privately while finishing her fruit drink, was worth honouring. Add to that music, courage, loyalty and fighting skills; and you had what was worth putting up with any amount of abrupt exclamations, sudden mood swings and repetitive skull jokes.

Even so, the next time he said anything about her panties she would probably slap him.


	2. F Major

There was a skeleton loose in the workshop. 

“What’s this?” (Potter, potter.)

Usopp craned his neck. “Oh, that’s smell dials over there.”

“And this?” (Poke, poke; hum, hum)

“Petroleum oil. Careful, it’s expensive!”

“And what about this?” (Potter, poke, whistle.)

“That’s just some scraps I’m going to make caltrops from…”

“Oho, this looks interesting!” Brook halted and looked down thoughtfully, extending a finger towards the contraption on the floor. “What is it?” 

“That’s there to filter out the impurities of the liquor before it’s poured into an ampoule for flammable ammunition – DON’T TOUCH IT!! It’s not all empty – you could spill it and start a fire!”

“Yohohoho!” laughed Brook, removing his hand away from the device with a flourishing gesture. “Don’t be so nervous, Mr. Usopp. You should learn from me – I am always cool and relaxed! Of course, then again I don’t have any nerves to worry about! Yohohoho – skull joke! Oh, and what’s this?” He hovered over a glass container in one corner, sniffing the air curiously.

“That’s tabasco sauce.” 

“Really? Did you know, I have actually never tasted that? Back in my day that was very hard to get hold of, it could cost you a fortune!” He dipped a bony finger into the container.

“DON’T EAT IT!” shouted Usopp. But the musician had already dipped a finger into his mouth – how _does_ he lick without a tongue? Usopp couldn’t help but wonder, though he knew it was futile – and gave a great start. 

“AAAHHH!! It feels like my mouth is on fire! Aaaah! Help! Murder! Water!!”

Usopp tore his hair while the skeleton was running around in panic, upsetting things all over the place. “Will you listen when people tell you stuff, you idiot – and what was that about always being relaxed?!” 

“Ah! Water! There!” Brook had spotted the small bucket of water intended to cool down the soldering-iron later on, and buried his entire head in it. Bubbles were rising up from the bottom.

Well, thought Usopp ruefully, this was what happened when you insisted on leaving the door to your workshop half open. Not that people wouldn’t barge in even when you didn’t, of course. But at least then you could claim you hadn’t encouraged them.

He glanced around the large workshop that Franky had built for him even before knowing for sure whether he’d come back to the crew or not. He hadn’t actually had many complaints about working out in the open on Going Merry’s small deck, but when you looked at how many things he’d gotten done lately, it was quite surprising how much difference more space and privacy seemed to make. (Or to be quite honest, more how many things he’d been able to start working on, rather than finish; but in any case he liked having several projects going at once.)

The problem was that these days, when he’d been working by himself for too long he’d usually get, well…not nervous exactly but kinda antsy and skittish. Of course he _knew_ everyone was still out there, but – it was just hard to concentrate properly. He would leave the stuff behind to stroll out for a while – just to chat with someone for a couple of minutes, he’d tell himself, but usually it would take much longer. When he didn’t wind up in some game with Luffy and Chopper he’d end up talking shop with Franky; or Nami would spot him and dump some chore on him, or there’d be some interesting smell from the galley so he’d have to try to cadge some snacks from Sanji. 

And except perhaps for the more boring type of chores there was nothing wrong with all that; it was just that there’d also be niggling thoughts of the half-finished work lurking in the back of his head or gnawing at his conscience. It was okay to leave things for the next day when he honestly felt he’d done enough, or had hit upon some snag he didn’t know how to resolve yet. But it annoyed him when he’d been in the midst of things and wanted to keep working had it not been for that extra unnecessary feeling of skittishness. 

So he’d started to compromise by leaving the door to the workshop ajar, so that he could easily hear a lot of the noises from the crew outside (there were always _some_ noises). That way, he was better able to relax and could work a lot longer. It seemed to work except for getting distracted by crewmates who took the opportunity to drop in now and then. But that was the risk you ran.

Brook seemed to have calmed down now. Water still dripping from his hair, he sat down on the floor as elegantly as an eight-foot-tall skeleton with very long limbs could manage – which actually was considerably elegantly, Usopp had to admit.

“Oh my, I had no idea it would taste so strong!” he carolled. “Yohoho-hoho, I was ready to think that my last day had come! Again! But you know, I think I could get used to the taste in time! Imagine! With that kind of seasoning, no food would ever taste dull. Can I have it?”

Usopp blinked. Brook was holding a small pocket-flask of leather, his hand hovering over the container of tabasco. The flask wasn’t any of Usopp’s but he’d rather not think about where the skeleton might have kept it hidden before.

He shook his head, coming back to the issue at hand. “No, of course you can’t!” he said hurriedly, his hand snaking out and jerking the tabasco away from under Brook’s nose and put it behind him, though with Brook’s reach it might not make much difference. “That’s not food, that’s ammunition!” he continued. “How do you think I would have defeated the man-eating demon tribes of the Island of Eternal Midnight without my trusty Tabasco Stars? Or the ferocious giant werewolves on Ice Monster Island? If you want something to eat, go bug Sanji.”

“Yohohoho!” laughed the skeleton amiably. “If you say so, Mr. Usopp, although there is something to be said for generosity. But I must say, hearing you talk like that rather takes me back to the old days. There were quite a few of us Rumba Pirates who were good at telling tall tales too, if I do say so myself. I remember this particular fellow very well. If he ever told the plain truth without embellishments, everyone in the crew was amazed, and then we knew there was something very unusual going on! He was still an excellent comrade, though, right up until the end. Died of a poisoned arrow in one eye and a harpoon through his stomach, I think it was.” Brook added the last bit matter-of-factly, almost as an afterthought.

It wasn’t easy to know what to say to that. Usopp worked in silence for a while, while Brook sat back and looked at the room around him, exuding a mixture of keen curiosity and serenity. 

“Every morning when I wake up and find myself here, I feel so happy,” the skeleton said suddenly. Usopp looked up to find a pair of empty eye-sockets turned towards him, looking disconcertingly direct. “I just feel so happy,” continued Brook. “Because that’s when I realise it wasn’t all a dream after all, that I really am here. I used to be so lonely I thought I could die from it!!”

Usopp stared at him. Dammit, people weren’t supposed to just _say_ things like that, so simply and honestly… Yet Brook didn’t seem to be troubled at all. He was resting his arms on his knees, looking entirely relaxed. 

“Or at least go crazy! But now it’s almost enough to make me worry that I’ll go crazy from happiness instead!” He laughed loudly: “Yohohoho!! How silly of me, isn’t it?!” 

Usopp looked down at the workbench. He was holding a bunch of super-small springs in one hand and had just realised that if he put them down again they’d just get mixed up with the normal-small springs and the super-small screws.

“Here, hold this,” he told Brook, dropping the super-small springs into Brook’s bony hand. Then Usopp moved his stuff around until there were tidy piles of each type of equipment on the workbench. He held out his hand and Brook returned the springs.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Yohohoho! My pleasure!” Brook scooted a few inches closer to the workbench, tilting his head to one side as he gave it another look full of curiosity. The posture was quite different, yet Usopp was reminded of nothing so much as Luffy on his stomach as he would edge closer for a better look, chin resting in the palm of his hand. “Any other thing I can lead my assistance too?”

“Well…uh…hold on…” Usopp looked around, then picked up a small white cup right by his feet (he’d just put it there before for fear of Brook accidentally knocking it over.) It had a certain potent mixture in it, one that was still too thick and sludgy to be useful. He put a spate in the cup and handed it over to the musician. “Yeah, you can stir this for a while. But don’t do it too quickly or it might spill.”

“Leave it to me!!” exclaimed Brook. “I know all about stirring beverages, do not worry! Yohohoho!”

“It’s _not_ a beverage!” protested Usopp forcefully. “Don’t drink it or your stomach might go KABOOM!” He gestured widely, knocking one of the neat piles of small springs over.

Brook’s upper eye ridges shot up. “I shall be careful!” he promised. “One certainly wouldn’t want something like THAT to happen!…” He trailed off: Usopp glanced at him in confusion, frowning and tapping his fingers involuntarily. 

“…Not that I have a stomach, of course! Yohohoho! Skull joke!” finished Brook, and Usopp relaxed.

In all likelihood, Usopp thought, there was a good risk Brook might get too excited at some point and end up spilling most of the cup’s contents. That happened often enough with Luffy, after all (though practically never with Chopper). But he figured that was the price you paid for keeping your door half open.


End file.
